


Devils To Adore

by EffingEden



Category: Hannibal (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Community: hannibalkink, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffingEden/pseuds/EffingEden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will has a talent for empathy that has bled into his daemon. </p><p>(Basically a retelling of Hannibal with daemons. Plotlines will warp and divert as time goes on, but will start off very familiar.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devils To Adore

**Author's Note:**

> For anon on hannibalkink who wanted a basic Hannibal/Will Daemons AU with a twist.

“...Tell me your design. Tell me who you are.” 

He let his gaze drop from the dim rows of worn out agents-to-be, closing his notes file with a relieved snap. He let his body drop its tension, releasing the murderer’s persona he had not consciously drawn around himself as the lecture progressed. His gaze flicked to the corner, to where he knew Laelaps would be. Sure enough, his _daemon_ was there, a tight twisted sidewinder with pale gold scales.

The students started to stream out, none lingering to ask questions. This batch was not so fresh as to try that - though he felt tension in Laelaps a moment before he saw what had caused his _daemon’s_ proverbial hackles to rise.

A heavy build man, confidence rolling off him like heat from the Sun and focused fully on him, his _daemon_ taking point through the sea of students. _Daemons_ that took a large creature’s shape usually surrendered some size. Will had known of a few elephant _daemons_ that were as tall at the shoulder as their human’s hip. Jack Crawford’s _daemon_ was no exception. She made for a small tiger, though still larger than any _daemon_ Will had seen in person. Her stipped back, rippling with muscle, came to Jack’s mid-thigh, and she was as long as Will was tall, or almost. 

She stared at him with all too human eyes of green-gold for a moment before her head turned to the cove Laelaps was coiled in. From the shadows came a dry rattle of her tail. 

“Mr. Graham,” the man said, ignoring the defensiveness of Will’s _daemon_. “Special Agent Jack Crawford, I head the Behavioural Science Unit.” Hearing the deep timber, Will recalled why the man was somewhat familiar. They had met once before, at the opening of the museum. It had not left him with a high opinion of the agent.

He stepped closer, extended his hand. Will shook it with the appropriate pressure, stronger than he’s shake a woman’s hand, but not so hard as to make Crawford feel threatened. The strength of Crawford’s hand was casual, the callouses on his trigger finger tickling unplesantly against skin. He released as soon as he felt Crawford’s grip slacken, still not lifting his gaze to the man’s face. “We’ve met,” Will said, wanting to stop as much idle conversation before it began. The dry rattle of Laelap’s tail echoed his tone. Crawford’s tiger _daemon_ was keeping a distance between herself and the nook Laelaps was in, though she wanted to get closer.

“Yes,” there was amusement in Crawford’s tone. Will kept his gaze on his papers, putting them away with a swiftness that projected his desire to be elsewhere. He wagged a finger at Will as he said, “We had a disagreement. When we opened the museum.” 

“I disagreed with what you named it.”

“The Evil Minds Research Museum,” the tigress said, her long tail flicking the air, her own voice a low, deep purr. Will’s gaze flicked to her for a moment, and felt Laelap’s whole body start to prickle with a near-physical discomfort. She twisted into a tighter knot, her threat-rattle dying as she was distracted by the wash of sensation. 

Ignoring it, Will grimaced and said, “It’s a little hammy, Jack.” He had finished packing up and lifted his eyes finally to Crawford’s, challenging him, demanding he get to his point.

“I see you’ve hitched your horse to a teaching post,” Crawford said, trying to keep the conversation going. He leaned closer as he continued, “and I hear it’s difficult for you to be social.”

 _Fuck_ all BSDs and their clumsy psycho-analytical attempts. Crawford wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t _right_ either. Will responded quickly, his gaze flicking out to where the echos of his students sat on empty seats, then back to Crawford, eyes staying to the lower half of Crawford’s face. “I’m just talking at them. I’m not listening to them. It’s not social.” 

Crawford’s tigress extended one heavy paw and padded tentatively at the ball of scales Laelaps had curled up into. “It’s all right,” she murmured reassuringly. “We know.” 

_Know **what**_ he felt Laelaps think, but not speak. She never spoke. Not even to him.

Will and Crawford watched them a moment before looking back to one another. “May I?” Crawford asked, raising his hand to Will’s face. Will didn’t move away, not sure what he was asking permission to do - but snorted softly when Crawford straightened his glasses for him. Then Crawford glanced again to Laelap’s hiding place before posing the question, “Where do you fall on the spectrum?”

There was no cruelty in the man’s expression, no condescension. He wouldn’t mock or laugh, he wouldn’t see it as a weakness. He was asking for Will’s limitations. Qualifications. 

_But why?_ came the whispered thought of Laelaps, though the building burn that licked her bones and caught under her skin.

He didn’t ask for her, they both could feel the shape of the reason, but instead gave answer. “My ‘horse’ is ‘hitched’ to a post closer to aspergers and autistics than narcissists and sociopaths.” 

That word choice was wrong - Crawford pressed on. “But you can empathise _with_ narcissists and sociopaths. Your _daemon_ -”

“I can empathise with anybody,” Will said in his best dismissive voice that usually had his students turning tail. “It’s less to do with personality disorder than an active imagination.” He’d given the Special Agent enough time, and he’d only danced around the subject he was wanting to breach. Will’s patience had run out. He gathered the last of his notes and moved towards the door - only to have Crawford’s large body move into his path.

“I would like to borrow your imagination,” Crawford said with a quiet strength that would not take ‘no’ for an answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Title drawn from Paradise Lost by John Milton.
> 
> Dialogue drawn almost word-for-word from the first episode of Hannibal.
> 
> Tags and warnings will be updated as I add them.


End file.
